


burning cities and napalm skies

by mosaicofhearts



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Newt Feels, No Dialogue, One-Sided Relationship, literally just feelings newt has, referenced past suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 11:11:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15605037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosaicofhearts/pseuds/mosaicofhearts
Summary: Somehow, Newt realises that he's going to follow this boy blindly into the unknown, into whatever and wherever the hell their path will lead them, and it feels something like a sucker punch to the gut.





	burning cities and napalm skies

**Author's Note:**

> i'm very new to this fandom, but i've basically just started reading the books and i watched the first 2 films when they came out, aaaaand i read basically all the newtmas fic i could find on here in 3 days and spoilered myself a lot for the final one (lol). i have nothing to say except i am truly devastated and i've made myself watch the ~scenes~ from the death cure so that i can prepare myself but. 
> 
> i may have cried 10 times today over newt, b/c he is my precious baby and i have always adored him.
> 
> idk what to say, just know that i am dramatic and distressed and this wasn't really meant to happen, but here's a tiny angsty drabble for you anyway.
> 
> unbeta'd and all mistakes are my own! all comments/kudos/feedback very welcome and much appreciated.

He feels it from the beginning. From the moment the box brings Thomas up into the Glade, something stirs beneath the surface of Newt's being; something shifts, not just in their surroundings, but in  _him_.

The  _knowing_  catches him up a few days later; somehow, Newt realises that he's going to follow this boy blindly into the unknown, into whatever and wherever the hell their path will lead them, and it feels something like a sucker punch to the gut.

Nobody has ever killed a Griever before. Not in the entire history of the Glade, now years long and seemingly never-ending.

Newt feels hope bloom inside the cavity of his chest, a warmth spreading deep inside that he has no memory of ever having experienced before. Despite this, there's something all too familiar about it, which is – unnerving to say the least.

He flourishes, as the darkest tendrils of fear creep into the minds of others; he watches through weary eyes as Gally is the first to succumb.

 

-

 

He can never bring himself to regret it, is the problem.

He feels the loss of his brothers like no other – little fragments of his heart cracking as each one falls. Alby, Chuck, Winston – casualties in a war that should never have happened. But Newt knows that none of them will have died in vain, not if he and Tommy have anything to do with it (and by God they will, because the key to all of this has always been Tommy and Newt isn't done following him yet).

There is a damage within him that will never be healed. He recognised that when he began to free-fall from that maze wall all that time ago, and yet --

And yet that doesn't seem to matter anymore. Not with Tommy.

There is a damage within him, yes – but there is faith, too, something once long forgotten. Newt puts his trust in the dark haired boy who once thought that all of this was  _right_  and sometimes (just – sometimes), he thinks he may be crazy for it.

 

-

 

There are moments when Newt considers  _why_ ; but he doesn't like to dwell on that so much.

(Later, when there's time to do so – when they're not running from their captors and struggling to stay alive – maybe then he'll let himself think about it).

Instead, he lets his gaze wander – allows himself to soak in the sight of scorch-tanned skin and wiry muscle; the darkest eyes that have always been too god damn knowing for their own good. Doesn't like to think about the way his expression shifts and changes whenever Thomas starts ranting on about tactics and plans, all fired up and determined and ready to save the bloody day; knows there's probably something akin to hero worship painted there across his countenance, but he can't help it. It's been this way from day one; always will be.

If Minho ever notices his best friend falling in love, he never says a word. Newt counts that, at least, as a blessing.

 

-

 

Begrudged to admit it, moments exist during which the hope dwindles and energy is low and Newt wonders quietly whether any of this is going to amount to anything. He doesn't let these words slip from slack lips, doesn't let Thomas know the jumble of thoughts inside his mind (though sometimes he thinks Thomas would rather he did).

It's – difficult. Nothing about life has been easy, not since the maze, not even since before the maze, he'd hazard a guess. The days of fighting and battling to survive are endless, but Newt grits his teeth and pushes forward and stays by Thomas' side, where he always will, where he belongs. He doesn't really fight this war for himself – he gave that up a long time ago.

There  _is_  hope, but not for himself. His hope burns for Thomas and Minho and Fry and all of the other pawns used by WICKED for their own crazed purposes.

 

-

 

The change is slow but startlingly obvious. Maybe he's been looking for the signs for longer than even he can remember, ever since they made the discovery that he wasn't to be one of the Immunes. His fate has been written in the stars ever since he was taken; ever since he was born. Newt was never destined to survive this – any of this.

Perhaps it's a miracle that he's made it this far at all. Perhaps it's against all odds that he didn't perish in the Glade with the many others.

Perhaps it's a sick twist of fate that caused him to survive that jump.

There is bitterness nestled deep within, a dark emotion that he cannot shake. He knows that it is not entirely his own; that something is integrating itself into his body and mind, that eventually he will fall victim to the disease. That the process has already begun long before he would ever be ready.

But he feels no regret; glad to have had his time with Alby and Minho and Chuck – even Gally. Glad to have met Thomas (or re-met Thomas, maybe, he isn't sure on the logistics of that even now).

This, though. This becomes just another thing to keep from Tommy.

 

-

 

Newt has been reciting names and memories and actions even as he feels them falling from his grasp. He remembers the fallen with an almost mathematical approach, chronological but no less sentimental. He is pleased to find fond thoughts of the Glade somewhere in the back of his mind; laughter choking through his lungs even as that black tar-like ink steadily makes its way through his veins.

He doesn't want to remember Tommy's face the way it is now; pale and distressed, hovering above his own. There is panic etched into the lines of his countenance, tears already slipping from eyes too wide, too shocked, too hurt –

No. This is not the Tommy Newt wants to take to the grave with him. But perhaps it'll have to do.

He presses the chain into Thomas' hand, clasping onto the other with as much strength as he has left. Everything he knows, everything he feels, all written down and there to be let out into the open. As little as death scares him, the finality of that is setting in; he isn't ready. He  _has_  to be ready.

“Please, Tommy... Please.”

**Author's Note:**

> i know i am new here, but i am considering making a multi-fandom blog because i have a Lot of things and i'm hoping to write a lot more these days and i need fandom friends??? idk.
> 
> i'm newtmas til i die and just wanna talk to people and cry about them rn, and just... pls send help and love.
> 
> EDIT: i did the thing. come find me @ newtsisms on tumblr!


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